


love is just a tool (to remind us who we are)

by plinys



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: “Sorry, we didn’t do anything special yesterday?”“Fucking me until I can’t talk doesn’t count as special?”(Or, DinahSiren on the morning after Valentine's Day.)





	love is just a tool (to remind us who we are)

It’s the morning after Valentine’s Day, and Dinah isn’t exactly sure how they got here. 

No, that’s not accurate.

She knows how they got here.

It started with a Valentine’s Day spent fighting crime with the guys, because they had planned a singles night on the streets to distract from their lack of romantic partners, and Dinah hadn’t exactly been able to say ‘ _ Oh hey you know that evil Earth Two Laurel, well I’m kind of dating her _ ’.

Something which had nagged her in the back of her mind the whole night, until their paths had inevitably crossed, and Laurel had pushed her up against an alleyway, lips rough against hers just for a moment before asking, “Your place or mine.” 

And well… 

Their post fight fucking had gone as it inevitably did. 

Just like any other night.

Nothing really  _ romantic _ . 

She knows they got here, physically, the same way they always did. But this, lingering in bed the next morning, her heart tight in her chest, that feeling of longing and wishing she had actually managed to make the day before.

That was the part that Dinah still didn’t entirely understand. 

Then again, spending the morning after Valentine’s Day with Laurel in her bed, wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

In fact, if Dinah was being honest with herself it might have been one of the best things. 

Laurel is sitting there in her panties and one of Dinah’s slouchy sweaters (the ones that she buys just because she’s realized just how much Laurel likes to wrap up in them) and nothing else, and she’s beautiful. Beautiful in the morning light, as she stretches just so, the sweater riding up above her hips. Such that Dinah can see the scar right above her right hip, marring her skin even though it’s healed by now. A mark that Dinah put there, when they were different people, when they were both hurting.

She wants to kiss the scar, as if that will take away all of the pain that they’ve inflicted upon each other.

It won’t.

She knows that.

So she bites her tongue against the offer, and instead says, “Sorry, we didn’t do anything special yesterday?”

Laurel casts her a confused look. “Fucking me until I can’t talk doesn’t count as special?”

“You know what I mean,” Dinah says shooting her a look.

But the look Laurel returns with seems to say that she doesn’t. 

“It was Valentine’s Day,” Dinah explains, because maybe Laurel genuinely didn’t know. She was from another universe and all. “Do you not have that on Earth Two? It’s a holiday, well a  _ Hallmark  _ holiday. You’re supposed to celebrate with the person you love and-”

“We have Valentine’s Day,” Laurel says quickly, cutting her off. 

There’s something about her tone.

Something Dinah doesn’t entirely understand. 

“Well, I mean, since you’re my girlfriend…”

“What?” 

There’s something about the way she says it, a tone of genuine surprise, that has Dinah looking across the bed to where Laurel is sitting. The look on her face is not quite shock, but something close enough. Confusion. As if what Dinah had said made absolutely no sense to her.

Suddenly, Dinah can’t help the feeling of doubt that rises up inside of herself.

The feeling that she had been reading the situation wrong. 

Especially when a moment later, Laurel continues, still that same confused tone, “I thought we were enemies.” 

Which,  _ right _ .

Technically they were on different sides.

Technically all of this had started as hate and aggression and fighting that had turned into fucking. But it had changed since then. So much had changed. They may have been on different sides, technically though Dinah had a feeling that wouldn’t be for too much longer, not if the way Laurel kept hesitating and helping  _ them  _ was any indicator of the person she wanted to become. But even regardless of that, Dinah had stopped considering Laurel her enemy some time ago. 

At some point, things had shifted and she didn’t hate Laurel anymore.

She couldn’t hate her.

Not when things had become soft and welcoming, and the sight of Laurel in her apartment felt less like an invasion of privacy and more like coming home. 

Not when a part of Dinah thinks that she might be in love with her. 

Not when Dinah still isn’t certain how to process the implications of  _ that _ .

“We’re not,” Dinah says slowly, because this much she’s at least certain of. 

Laurel’s eyebrows are still knitted together in concentration and confusion, but they lighten up after a moment, “We’re not?”

“No,” Dinah says, more confident this time, “I wouldn’t let my enemy steal my favorite sweater.” 

That does something, a change, subtle to be sure, but it’s something. A small smile on Laurel’s face, that way she seems to bundle herself tighter into Dinah’s oversized orange sweater. Comfortable and at peace.

It strikes her suddenly.

An awareness.

A realization.

Putting together all the pieces that Laurel has told her about her past. 

There is a good chance before now, that Laurel has never had anyone to be soft with, not properly and not in a while. It’s a change for Dinah too. 

A welcome change. 

She kisses Laurel, a soft kiss, not the hot and heavy passion of last night, not the rough angry kisses that been the norm with them before. But something softer and tender, something that could only exist here, in Dinah’s bedroom, in the early hours of the morning. When it was just the two of them, and nothing more. 

Dinah pulls back, what feels far too soon. Though she keeps her hand steady, resting against the back of Laurel’s neck to hold her in place, to hold her close, their foreheads pressed together as they both slowly find their breaths again. 

It’s there, that she whispers in the space between them, “Hey babe, want to be my girlfriend?”

Laurel doesn’t answer.

Not with words.

But there’s another press of lips against hers, hotter this time, determined, and Dinah figures that counts as enough of an answer.

 


End file.
